The Hunger of the Throne
by RedFluffyBanana
Summary: Twenty Four tributes are gathered to participate in the 400th Annual Hunger Games. Who wins? Who dies? Who will be crowned King- or Queen- of Westeros? Let the Games begin! (And may the odds be ever in their favour). Rated T /M (maybe).
1. Chapter 1: The Countdown

It's been a while, hasn't it? *Laughs nervously*

This fanfic is going to be a summer project, with this chapter being a taste for what is to come. I'm also working on a new project, co-writing it with a close friend of min (currently 40,000 words or so). Whenever I get writer's block on that, I will continue on with this. This will get completed, but I will say in advance, chapters will be uploaded when they are completed. I may upload 3 chapters in a week, or 3 chapters in 3 months...or longer. And for that, I apologize.

The tone will be humourous in places, serious in others. But overall, relatively light-hearted. I've taken liberty with the books and the tv series, drawing from both, bringing characters back from the dead... so I guess a SPOILER WARNING is needed. Read on at your own doom.

To say this has been brewing for quite a while would be an understatement. Enjoy! (Oh, and this is relatively raw, I'm still working on the polishing).

-...-

Chapter One – The Countdown

**Tyrion**

The binds were tight, and unforgiving against his mouth and wrists; a piece of cloth was wrapped tightly around his eyes, chaffing against his scar. He wriggled uncomfortably, bound as he was, his legs cramping from the effort of standing for…. hours? Or was it days?

Annoyance clouded his thoughts, as he struggled to remember his actions leading up to waking only moments ago. He had spent the night alone, as Shae was occupied with the Lady Sansa's needs. He had drunk wine, more perhaps than he should have, but none more than usual. He could handle his wine. But nonetheless, he could remember nothing more, as if a veil had been cast over the night, obscuring his view. Like the cloth was obscuring it right now. He hated being in total darkness. He tried to work the cloth away from his face, and was rewarded- briefly- with a glimpse of daylight.

Suddenly, the bind loosened, freeing his arms and legs. Tyrion tore the cloth away from his face eagerly, wincing as it bit at the tender flesh around his scar. The sunlight was- for a moment- blinding, and he squinted, trying to determine if he was in any immediate danger.

He was not alone. That was much was evident from the company he shared, who mimicked his movements, some squinting as a babe would seeing the sun for the first time.

He saw Cersei, resplendent as always in her finery and jewellery, her hair the colour of gold. Her face as beautiful as ever; a visitor from the free cities had once honoured her as "the face that could steal a realm's heart, lift the soul of any man, a face that could bring happiness to any and all who glance upon it."He recalled the line bitterly.

Jaime stood diligently a few yards away from her, glad in his king's guard armour, though bereft of his sword. Tyrion eyed Jaime warily, as he tried to avoid Cersei's stare, sharp as daggers.

He realised with a start that there were quite a number of people at his sides, curved as if to form a circle, though his view was blocked by a drinking horn of immense size; a cornucopia- he recalled the name from a tattered book he had found in Casterly Rock's library after an otherwise wasted day doing his meagre duties. The horn was on its side, its contents spilling out onto the grass. But it was not wheat, or grain or fruit that it contained…. But weapons of every shape and size. All no doubt deadly in the right hands.

He looked beyond the line of people who stood awkwardly at his sides, beyond to the walls of Winterfell . It's highest towers were barely visible in the bank of fog which was gradually rolling in from the West. Amongst them was the tower that Stark boy had fallen from, where Cersei and Jaime had committed their vile crime.

To his back was the great Wall, though without its omnipresent blanket of snow and ice. There was dew coated grass at his feet, though he knew that the ground around Winterfell – and the Wall further North- was barren, adorned with shrubs and brittle grass. Tyrion frowned in confusion.

Everyone was stood deathly still, as if they couldn't quite believe what their eyes were seeing. Tyrion felt several eyes glance over him, pause for a second, then move on.

He too search the ranks; there was the crippled Stark boy –name of Brandon, Tyrion recalled – being held in place by a steel ring around his waist, his legs useless and limp under him.

Then he saw a tall woman gasp, her hand going for the empty scabbard strapped at her side. As a result of their proximity he could hear the doubt in her voice, "Warlocks. Only warlocks would produce such madness." Tyrion followed her gaze, to Renly Baratheon, who was very much alive, and staring blankly at Margaery Tyrell.

By her side, was a crow of the Night's watch who he vaguely remembered from his brief trip to the Wall. Next to him stood Jon Snow, who he recognised immediately, despite his thick beard and shoulder length hair. The bastard of Winterfell's brow was low over his brooding eyes, a _stark_ contrast to the crow next to him, who seemed to be in awe of his surroundings.

He made a mental note of those he would recognise anywhere, The Hound, Sansa, Stannis Baratheon- who stood ram rod straight, radiating a sense of tenacious pride (as always)- Varys, Pycelle… his eyes travelled further around the circle…Joffrey? The current King of Westeros looked close to hysterical, his eyes brimming with tears, hands wringing, limbs shaking.

The first to garner everyone's attention was a silver-haired man – a Targaryen?_ Impossible_- who made a start when he saw the Lannister crest on Jaime's silks. "Usurpers! I AM THE BLOOD OF THE DRAGON AND I WILL BURN YOU, BURN ALL OF YOU! I WILL BURN YOU IN FIRE AND BLOOD! FIRE AND BLOOD!"

The man's frenzied eyes darted to Joffrey, to Cersei, to Tyrion then back to Jaime. Jaime laughed and turned to Cersei, "Seems the Beggar Prince is like his father, completely mad." He sneered cruelly.

"I AM NOT THE BEGGAR PRINCE- I AM A TARGARYEN, BLOOD OF OLD VALYRIA! BOW TO ME USURPER SCUM! BOW TO ME!"

Another raised their voice to be heard, though it was tentative and heavy with emotion, "Brother?"

Tyrion searched for the owner, and found it. It belonged to a woman, with platinum hair and startling violet eyes that shone even from this distance. His eyes flitted between the man and woman – he noticed the woman was younger than she initially looked. Perhaps 16, 17. The man slightly older, 23, or 24 by Tyrion's guess.

Both had the characteristic features of a pure-blood Targaryen. He glanced back at the woman-girl.

_That would be Daenerys Targaryen, _he thought. He looked at the older man again, _Viserys?_

He had it on good authority that Viserys had died some years ago, yet hear he stood, missing his vaunted golden crown.

Tyrion noticed others had now turned their attention to the two Targaryens, lingering particularly on the girl. The man seemed to notice this and he shook with an incomprehensible anger.

"I AM VISERYS TARGARYEN, RIGHTFUL HEIR TO THE IRON THRONE-"

Jaime dismissed him with a wave of his hand. The man made to move forward- then stopped. He looked at his feet, then shifted his weight tentatively.

"It clicked, moved."

The man's voice was quiet at first, but it grew louder with every word. "It's a trap!"

_The boy is smarter than he looks_, Tyrion noted.

"They've trapped us! We can't move! We're trapped!"

For a moment, no one seemed to belief him, but then all eyes were on the ground at their feet. Tracing the subtle outline of a square raised less than an inch above the ground around it. Tyrion's mind jumped to magic, or wildfire. There were gasps, mutterings of disbelief, a couple looked at their allies and spoke a few words. In a matter of seconds, the area descended into chaos.

Tyrion, preoccupied with other matters, raised his voice above the cacophony of protests, "And just _who_ is '_they'_?"

The man looked at him, and then laughed hysterically. "_The Seven_."

Tyrion was about to make a snide remark, when a metallic screech filled the air, like a thousand swords clashing in the midst of battle. Silence reigned then, the only communication happening in the shocked creases, the open mouths of those that stood in the fog and waited desperately for answers.

"Welcome, people of Panem, to the 400th Annual Hunger Games!"

The disembodied voice boomed into the air, louder than it was possible. Amplified beyond any human capability. Tyrion frowned, a foreboding sense of dread crept over him as he looked for the source of the noise, wary that others too were glancing from side to side in confusion.

"Watch these tributes fight to death, to determine who amongst them is worthy of being the last one standing. The prize up for grabs is the sanctified Iron Throne of Westeros, and the right to declare themselves King- or Queen- of the Seven Kingdoms!-"

There was rapturous applause. Tyrion felt ill, and he knew it had little to do with the last dregs of wine that sat awkwardly in his stomach. "- Well, it looks like the Game-Makers are ready, but are you, Panem, ready for what is sure to be the best Hunger Games Ever?!" There were cheers, and excited calls for blood and death. "And one last thing tributes…. May the Odds be Ever in your Favour!"

There was a burst of an anthem, and then silence.

"You expect us to kill each other!?" A thin man that Tyrion could not place yelled into the sky, splintering everyone's thoughts.

Cersei was uncharacteristically quiet, absent of her trademark witty comments. Her silver tongue apparently cut out. She turned her piercing eyes to Joffrey, who whimpered under the weight of his mother's glare.

The metallic noise returned, along with the voice of the harbinger;

"10"

"9"

"8"

Panic set in, as they waited for what waited for them at the end of the count down.

"7"

"6"

"5"

"4"

"3"

Looks were exchanged.

"2"

"1"

…..

And then, for a moment, there was nothing…

And then, all eyes turned to Joffrey.

But Tyrion also noticed the actions of one Targaryen – the younger (his mind whispered, _Daenerys_ , like a nightmare brought to life. How many council meetings had been occupied with discussions with what to do with this last Targaryen, the last thorn in the Lannister's side?) She gestured to a previously unseen brute and spoke a couple words in a guttural language that Tyrion did not understand. With but a handful of words, the hulking barbarian lumbered over to the silver-haired man and snapped his body like a twig. He slumped, lifeless, in the man's fists. That first death was the catalyst, the spark that erupted into a firestorm within a heartbeat.

Then there was a rush of movement, Tyrion couldn't tell who reached him first. Or who grabbed what at the Cornucopia, only that a great many people scrambled like beggars for the boy king. There was glints of metal being raised above heads, as for one moment all the tributes were united in one goal – to kill Joffrey.

Those that had not moved took the chance to get away from the devastation, away from the inevitable blood bath. Tyrion thought of running to grab a weapon, but thought better of it as the barbarian walked towards the diminishing pile and pocketed what he could.

"Tyrion-" He turned his head to the source of the noise. "Run." Cersei looked him in the eye and inclined her head slightly.

He knew it wasn't a threat, merely a piece of advice. A truth. The only way he was going to survive was to get away, and quickly.

He took one last look at the carnage, then ran – as fast as his stunted legs could carry him.


	2. Chapter 2: Alliances are Formed

So here it is, Chapter Two of my little epic ongoing. Also, I'm back working on "Amnesia" due to a sudden epiphany. So, perhaps expect that soonish.

**Chapter Two- Alliances are Formed**

**Bran**

Bran couldn't move. His legs were dead weights tied to his body, holding him against the cold ground. He pushed his body up into an upright position, and glared down at the useless pieces of flesh below him waist.

With effort, he slid backwards, knowing that there were trees to his back. Bran tried to avoid looking at the body of the boy king, and that of the silver-haired Targaryen, but his eyes kept catching glimpses of their sprawled, lifeless forms. His mind went to the execution of the Night's watch deserter and Jon telling him to keep watching, because father would know if he didn't..

He remembered seeing Jon's face in the crowd, as well as Arya and, further away- the flash of Sansa's red hair. It had been months since he had last seen them, and still, they didn't spare him a glace. They had run with the rest, scattering across the field, and towards the wall. They had left him. He imagined them now, imagined what they were doing as he crawled towards the edge of the clearing. Jon was probably organising a party to attack the Lannister's head on. Or fighting them now. But he couldn't imagine what Sansa or Arya were doing. He couldn't imagine _them_ _killing _anyone.

Bran didn't know what to think. He wondered, briefly, whether this was another dream. But he hadn't seen the three eyed raven.

_Besides, I can't walk._ Bran thought angrily.

He didn't know what to believe. The only thing that mattered was that everyone else was choosing to believe the words spoken by the impossibly loud voice. And now he was stranded, in a heap on the grass. Gaining inches, perhaps, as he worked his arms to carry him towards safety. Or the closest thing to safety in this place.

Bran thought back to a few minutes ago, at how quickly shock and silence has descended into chaos and death. He had been lucky; in the rush to kill Joffrey, nobody had paid any heed to the crippled boy on the floor. But Bran knew it would be foolish to tempt fate. Foolish to stay on his starting post, surrounded by his father's enemies, surrounded by those that would very much like to see him dead.

His eyes scanned the foliage, watching for lions prowling in the shadows. Part of him didn't care if there were. He clawed his way into the undergrowth, wary that his hiding spot would only serve to conceal him from those that were not searching for their prey.

For some hours Bran sat there, hidden in the branches, waiting for someone to find him.

-x-

**Jorah**

Jorah watched his queen without comment as she paced around the small cove, her movements anxious, and her gaze never once leaving Drogo's prone form. "How is it your alive? Blood magic? Warlocks?"

Daenerys Targayren spoke in disjointed Dothraki; her words confused, her mind racing. She shook her head. "How it is that you're alive? The priestess…she said that you would only come back to me when the ..mountains blow in the wind like leaves…". She stopped, her chest heaving in the effort to contain her emotions.

Drogo frowned, "All I know is that I am alive. Before that, there is nothing-" He watched her expression, "I don't believe I was dead. I don't remember it." He seemed shocked, or as close to shocked as was capable for a Khal. "All I remember is you-moon of my life- and the hot sun on my back. Our son-" He frowned again, glanced at her stomach- "the stallion who rode the world. But he is gone."

Drogo stood still in the cave entrance, his hands fists by his side. The sun filtered in through the vegetation and shone on the bells in his hair. Daenerys walked over to him on uncertain feet, and crouched by his side. She put her forehead on her dead husband's thigh, a hand on his hand. Drogo moved his hand to hold hers, and closed his eyes.

"Why am I tested like this? Daenerys whispered in the common tongue; Jorah shifted uncomfortably.

She lifted her face to meet his, her lilac eyes shone and shimmered with barely restrained tears."Ser Jorah, I need your council." She pushed herself to her feet, and strode over to the old knight. Drogo followed behind, forever watching her back, turning his head as to keep guard over the entrance.

"My brother- he was alive, my husband is alive – how is this possible? What madness are we being exposed to? Whose game are we playing? I need answers…-" She paused for a second, and clenched her jaw, "-and where are my dragons!?" The anger and desperation in her voice was evident. She inhaled deeply, once, twice. "Ser, I need answers…and I know you don't possess them. Nothing makes any sense." Her words trailed off into the air.

"The others will be in the same position." Jorah spoke tentatively, but earnestly.

"And that is my only respite." Daenerys sat down on a nearby rock, Drogo crouched beside her.

The dead Khal narrowed his eyes, "Dragons?"

"You weren't there." Daenerys realised, she raised a hand to cup his cheek. "The dragon eggs, the gifts Illyrio gave me- I put them in your pyre, they hatched – Viserion, Rhaegal and…Drogon." She smiled, "He's the biggest, black as the night, strong…" She sighed, dropped the hand from his face, "I can't do this, I've already lost you. I killed you. I can't…"

"I died. And now I am here. I don't know how long I'll stay here."Drogo gripped his knees, determination lighting a fire in his eyes. "I will get you your Iron Chair. If I die you lose nothing". Daenerys made to interrupt, "-but if you die, everything is lost."

Nobody spoke, as Drogo lifted her chin with a finger, "You have grown into a strong woman, moon of my life."

-x-

**Sansa**

The reunion had been short and to the point, a moment of joy, before both realised that they were in each other's arms and dropped them like a dead weight. Sansa stepped back, "Arya? What are you doing here?"

Her sister was taller than the last time they met, and considerably older. Her hair was shoulder length and greasy, her skin and clothes stained with dirt… and what looked like blood. Sansa looked pointedly at her sister, and pursed her lips, "What happened to you?"

Arya almost smiled. Everything they've been through and the thing that Sansa mentions is what she's wearing. She ignored the slight, " the same thing you are doing here, trying to figure out what's happening." Arya took a dagger out from under her belt, the only weapon she had managed to take in the chaos after the countdown.

Sansa eyed the weapon warily.

"I'm not going to kill you." Arya seemed indignant, almost insulted.

"What happened to you?" Sansa said softly, though her tone held the slightest notes of disgust. She repressed it. She had seen worse. Arya didn't reply, as she started to walk along the gravelled road. Her focus was at her feet. Sansa paced after her, "Is it safe to be out in the open like this? What about…." She paused, thinking of all the people who wanted the last Starks dead. "Well…everyone, but I think we can trust Margaery. _I _think we should go to Margaery Tyrell, she's helped me before."

"We'll be fine by ourselves." Arya turned to her sister, "I'll protect you."

Sansa just frowned. They travelled for several minutes in silence. Sansa tripped several times over the uneven ground, trying to negotiate the terrain in her court made dress and shoes. Arya smirked at her clumsiness. Sansa tilted her head and grimaced, "At least I don't look like I've just crawled out from a hole in the ground." There was silence again, "so, where have you been?"

Arya didn't answer for a long time. Birds whistled in the trees, and a rough, cold breeze ruffled the long grass at their sides. Sansa wrapped her arms around her body, shivering from the cold. Arya looked up at her sister, her eyes forlorn.

"I was there when father died."

"You were?"

"I was at the twins when Robb and Mother died. I saw Grey Wind die."

"Arya…"

"I've seen people die, and I've killed people."

Once Sansa had started to chip away at Arya's shell, the cracks were becoming more and more visible. Arya herself couldn't stop the words from coming out of her mouth. She wanted to tell someone, anyone of what had happened. There was a part of her who was still a little girl who had seen too much.

"I was at Harrenhall, I was being held prisoner by the Lannisters, I saw people tortured. I met an assassin. I met the Hound. I was with the Night's Watch on the way to the wall, but they were killed. I met Robert's bastard son." Arya stopped talking suddenly, then whispered "He was taken by the red woman to Dragonstone."

Arya exhaled, "what about you?"

"I've been at King's Landing. I was supposed to marry Joffrey, but when father was named traitor and..killed.." She lost track of her thoughts, "He showed me his head on a spike. He's a monster, Arya."

"I told you."

"I know." She stopped walking, Arya stopped a pace ahead. "I've been held prisoner in the Capitol, Joffrey's pet prisoner. He took every opportunity to humiliate me, parade me at court. Margaery Tyrell came to the capitol and offered a marriage to Joffrey. He agreed. And now she'll be Queen." The sadness in her voice was practically tangible.

"Do you still want to be Queen….with Joffrey?"

"No…no, it's just that she's a friend, and I don't want Joffrey to hurt her."

Arya smirked, "And you want to be Queen."

"Well, yes. A little."

"We have a chance, with everyone here, as strange as this is, that you can be." The corners of Arya's mouth tilted upwards as if to smile, but it seemed fake and cruel in equal parts. "And I'm pretty sure Joffrey is dead."

"I still think this is a dream. And that we'll wake up back into the nightmare."

"I think Joffrey is dead. I saw his body, covered in-"

"Arya!"

"What?"

"Please don't tell me the details. I'm happy believing he is dead." For the first time in a long time, Sansa smiled. For a brief second, all the problems of the world fell from her shoulders. Unburdened by death, and threats, and bribery and blackmail and everything that came with living in King's Landing.

They continued walking with new purpose.

"So, who else is here? Anyone you can't kill?" Sansa said, with a touch of levity.

"I saw a big man near the weapon pile. He looked dangerous."

"And the Lannisters." Sansa added. "Did you see the Targaryens?" She said as if in afterthought. "I heard that the girl…the Princess….."

"Daenerys."

"That she was still alive. Do you think that was her?"

Arya shrugged, "I haven't heard anything." She seemed distracted.

Sansa noticed her sister's diverted attention, "What?"

"I thought I heard something…."

Out of nowhere, an arrow shot out from the shadows beneath the shelter of the forest to their right.

"Go, Sansa! Run!"

Sansa hesitated for a second, as she saw Arya run towards the trees, dagger exposed and clutched in her grimy hand. "Arya!"

Fighting against every thought and fibre in her body, Sansa ran after her.


End file.
